There Goes My Hero
by Bourbon Rose
Summary: Kurt fervently believed in love. Love that makes your heart spin out of control and rocks your world like nothing else could—a feeling that goes deeper and is more intense than anything he'd ever seen, tasted and experienced... And he desired it deeply.


**Short Klaine one-shot.**

**Disclaimer: Obviously, the characters do not belong to me.**

**Enjoy :) **

* * *

><p><strong>There Goes My Hero<strong>

* * *

><p>The world made Kurt believe that love wasn't for him and when the world believes you're not meant to be for something, it's unbelievably, terribly, awfully difficult to continue that horrifyingly steep climb uphill. It's nearly impossible.<p>

But Kurt never really minded to struggle through.

Because despite what the world believed—what the world _made _him believe—there was always that tiny, untouchable spot deep in his heart that managed to make his body lighter and made his spirit soar so the climb was just that little bit less heavy.

He'd seen it so many times.

Love.

It started at home, of course. He'd always liked to see his parents be affective with each other. Just a quick hug when one of them got home, a look that spoke more than thousand words and lifted little Kurt's heart more than anything ever could. What he loved most where the kisses. The small, tiny kisses his parents placed on their cheeks or nose or—what made his heart leap pleasantly—a quickly stolen peck on the lips, almost invisible through all the business that was his parent's day.

But then Mom died and the world changed and there were no quick hugs anymore. No pecks on rosy cheeks or rumpling noses or eyes that spoke more than words and glances that spoke more than volumes of books would ever do.

No more stolen kisses.

He started watching movies. Beautiful movies—with gorgeous, heartwarming love-stories that took you to an unknown world where everything was filled with a hope that little Kurt could never quite understand. He fell in love with the characters and when he'd watched every movie, he watched them over again and again—and after a while it wasn't even for the lovely story anymore, but he watched just to see the characters that warmed his heart with this surprisingly warm and satisfying feeling and...

Love.

...love?

That was probably the best way to describe it. And if Kurt—according to the world—couldn't experience _real_ love, he had to satisfy with this, right?

He'd been in many fantasy-relationships with every character he'd ever had feelings for.

Aladdin, Jack Dawson, Johnny Depp, John Smitt, even Peter Pan, and _even_ Simba—but maybe the latter was just because he could intensely sympathize with losing a parent.

But after a while—when Kurt grew up and lost the rose-glassed-like vision of kids—he stopped watching these movies that often, because it simply saddened him that love like that wasn't reserved for him.

He wanted to have it so badly, so extremely badly—his entire being longed for that moment when someone would love him enough to cuddle him and hug him and peck him on his nose and maybe even steal some kisses from him.

Because Kurt fervently believed in love. Love that makes your heart spin out of control and rocks your world like nothing else could—a feeling that goes deeper and is more intense than anything he'd ever seen, tasted and experienced...

And he desired it deeply.

So when potential guys showed up and seemed to offer themselves without hesitation—laughing with him, talking to him, touching him regularly to pat him on his shoulder or something casual like that—he didn't hesitate himself and threw himself eagerly toward them.

It didn't turn out like in the movies, though, and Kurt learned a valuable lesson: a happy ever after doesn't always exist. And when he got his heart broken time and time again, he simply gave up. He never really stopped caring, but he refused to be that stereo-type any longer—that lonely gay-kid that pathetically searched his love and heart, and who every time again staggered back home with shattered hope and a even more devastated heart.

Black isn't a fun color to feel like.

And even feeling it very fleetingly... is feeling it way too long—longer than you ever should've been feeling it.

But then... _he_ walked by and looked up at him with those beautiful, liquid, starry eyes that seemed to see through everything and everyone and made Kurt's cheeks rosy and his lips numb and his heart do all kinds of silly things...

The blackness fled his heart and soul like the shadows shot away from the sun. It was as if a leaden blanket was lifted from his shoulders and he could walk and breathe and talk much more freely and relaxed than he'd could in such a long time.

Kurt Hummel was hooked from the beginning—hopelessly, irretrievably, irrevocably, desperately hooked.

And _this_ time around—it _was_ like in the movies, and Kurt began to gain back that warm feeling of trust and love and hope, and he wanted more and more because everything was amazing and perfect.

Okay, the small slip-up of Blaine fawning over that hippie like a hormonal 13-year-old hadn't been part of the movie—didn't even belong in there, merely a blooper, like the writer of the script had suffered a temporarily stroke. Kurt blinked a few times, heart cracked just a little—but who cared anyway, because his heart had been broken so many times, it could take this too—and moved on, waving away any apologies from Blaine's side, happily being the shoulder his dearest and bestest friend needed.

The two of them had been traveling this endless road of never-ending friendship long—far too long for Kurt's liking.

They were dancing on it, too, on the road, they were dancing. Pulling back and forth, smiling and crying, holding hands and avoiding contact—but always in balance, always together.

Nevertheless, Kurt sincerely hoped with everything he had in himself that the road would end soon—with a 'happy ever after', preferably.

If the road _had_ an end, that is.

It took Blaine long enough to see the freaking light on the end of the road, though. It was only a little bit sad and ironic that it had to be on the day Pav died—but Kurt could overlook that detail, and he took Blaine's confession with both hands and—eventually, making him over-the-moon-happy—with both lips too.

And even though the first kiss was everything Kurt had imagined and even far more—shaking the very earth he was walking on, making his knees wobbly and, _very_ unlike that terrible _real_ first kiss, he _didn't_ want them to be wobbly, because _this_ time he didn't want to disappear in a hole under the ground—it was the _second_ kiss that made him even happier.

Because _that_ meant Blaine had actually _liked_ the first kiss and _that_ meant Blaine wanted to be with Kurt just as much as Kurt wanted to be with him.

Just as the first and the second kiss had been mile poles, the three words that popped from Blaine's perfectly soft lips—Kurt knew they were soft, he'd tasted them so often and they were like silk and... so soft—and that dreamy, absolutely in-love-gaze he'd carried with it...

"_I love you_."

And Kurt could only think of every moment they'd spent together—the amazing and the less amazing—and he realized that _this_ was it, this was _his_ moment in the movie, this was the moment his hero—his _hero_—confessed his _love_ and he... Kurt couldn't think of anything... better... than to say those words right back, every syllable drenched with so much love, utterly sincere to his very bones and heart...

"_I love you too_."

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading :) Reviews would be extremely appreciated :)<strong>

**Love  
>- Rose <strong>


End file.
